There is a place that I have walked
where my shoes got soaked with rain
from the ground and from the sky.

Place of faraway bravery and rugged need;
'alone' a necessary and a blessed space.
I found my body breathing
and crushing
and stamping
in quiet courage, silent
at a river, fingers open
to the frost,
clutching stone.

Place on the threshold of beauty and ancient revolutions;
'magic' an alive and a flowing force.
I found my soul floating
and gripping
and ripening
in the birth of self, angry
and certain, voice tethered to
hollow sounds,
whistling.

Parallel lines are a false comfort:
Our lines grow tangents,
undulating with faithfulness
to the mathematics of intersection
and round circles
like a wave.